Matteo peeked a bloodshot eye out from under his arm, eyeing me with mock suspicion. “Why do you look so…chipper?”
I smirked. “I slept like a baby.”
“Ugh, the world is so cruel,” Matteo muttered, flopping back down onto the couch like he had just been betrayed by the universe. “Just give me the food.” Matteo groaned again from the couch, making it sound like I was the one causing his misery.
“Could youbeany louder?” I asked, my tone sweet as honey.
“Don’t tempt me,” Matteo grumbled, and I had to stifle a laugh.
“Don’t worry, food will fix everything,” Alexander said, his voice still light but with a hint of sincerity beneath it. He held out his hand to Gia, letting her fly the stuffed bunny around in circles again.
I watched him for a moment longer, wondering why the simplest things—like him sitting on the floor playing with my daughter—felt soimportant. And why, despite my best efforts to act like it didn’t matter, my heart had the audacity to give a little jump whenever he smiled.
12
LUCIA
The last two weeks had been a blur of roaring engines, pit stops, and hotel rooms. Life on the road with Matteo—and by extension, Alexander—was a whirlwind, but I was starting to find my rhythm.
Mornings started early, with Gia demanding breakfast long before I’d had my first sip of coffee. Afternoons were a mix of Matteo’s training sessions, team meetings, and the occasional trackside stroll to stretch our legs. Evenings were quieter, spent in hotel suites or at low-key team dinners where Gia was quickly becoming everyone’s favorite distraction.
It was…nice.
The one thing I couldn’t quite get used to was the media attention. Matteo had warned me. Alexander had also, but I hadn’t understood the scope of it until now. Cameras were always there, just out of sight but somehow always present. Paparazzi weren’t the worst of it; no, it was the fans. The diehards. The ones who lived and breathed Formula One and wanted to dissect every second of every interaction their idols had.
And apparently, that now included me.
It started small. A few casual glances as I walked with Gia through the paddock. A couple of harmless photos snapped as I stood beside Matteo’s car. But it escalated after someone posted a photo online—one of those grainy, zoomed-in shots taken from across the paddock.
The caption read:Alexander Wright seen chatting with a mystery woman! Could this be a new romance brewing?
The “mystery woman” was me. Or, more accurately, the back of my head as I stood next to Alexander while he played peekaboo with Gianna. There had been some rumors, some gossip websites and articles about us dating only because we were around each other. But the media spun the narrative in ways that seemed unfathomable. It all felt so out of our control. My phone buzzed incessantly after that. Matteo forwarded me the post, laughing about how the fans were already spiraling into conspiracy theories. Alexander apologized for the attention, promising to shut it down if it got out of hand.
But it wasn’t the post itself that bothered me. It was the comments.
Some were harmless, speculating about whether Alexander had a secret girlfriend. Some speculating it was me, others not. Others were…less kind. The usual mix of online toxicity: calling me a nobody, questioning why Alexander would even bother with someone like me. Then the personal ones, the truly mean ones.
I told myself it didn’t matter. I wasn’t dating Alexander. There was nothing to feed the rumors. And yet, as I scrolled through the comments late at night in my hotel room, I couldn’t help but feel…exposed.
I was jolted out of my thoughts by a soft knock on the door.
“It’s open,” I called, setting my phone down as Matteo strolled in, dressed in his team’s branded hoodie and sweatpants, his hair still damp from his post-training shower.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said, plopping down on the couch beside me. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I said too quickly, which of course made Matteo narrow his eyes suspiciously.
“Lucia,” he said, drawing my name out like he used to when we were kids and I was caught sneaking extra cookies from the jar. “What’s going on?”
I hesitated, then sighed, flipping my phone around to show him the post. “This.”
Matteo stared at the screen for a second, then burst out laughing. “This is what’s got you all worked up? Lucia, you can barely even tell it’s you!”
“It doesn’t matter,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “People are…saying things.”
Matteo’s laughter faded, his expression softening. “Look, I get it. The attention sucks. But you’ve gotta let it roll off your back. They don’t know you. And anyone who knows you wouldn’t say a damn thing like that. It’s hard to remember, but it’s not real, what they say…none of it is real.”
I bit my lip, his words offering some comfort but not enough to shake off the unease entirely. I knew he had gone through his own media scrutiny, all the drivers had.
